Fallout 4 Shorts
by masseylass
Summary: A series of short, one-shot stories about Nate and his adventures with his companions. Each story is less than one page. (Deacon, MacCready, Hancock, Danse, Codsworth, Piper, Curie, Dogmeat, Cait, Valentine, Gage, and more.)
1. On Diamond City (Nick and Piper)

_**On Diamond City – **_**Nick and Piper**

_Diamond City: a sad, lonely kind of beautiful when it rains, like the soft echoes of jazz dancing down the empty corridor of a home long since forgotten…memories of another time. The patter of the rain is my metronome as I sit back at watch the world go by, marveling at the Great Green Jewel._

_To my left is the noodle shop. People gather in spite of the weather, seeking shelter under the awning, a Diamond City tradition. They stir like ants upon a mound, choosing never speak, never to look at one another and realize they aren't fated to be alone in this chaotic world._

_To my right are the stands. Diamond City's elite congregate outside the Taphouse only to judge those of us who have the 'misfortune' of living modest lives beneath the bleachers. They don't have to say a word; their pride drowns out the clamor of the rain beating against the metal._

_I look forward and see the guard rotation. The umpires don't say a word as they pass by. I don't need to see under their helmets to know their eyes are pinned forward, redirecting their gaze to ignore the injustice that surrounds them. Or maybe their stare isn't a metaphor at all; maybe they are just tired, world-weary men with weathered hearts who – _

"Are you monologuing again?"

"Huh?"

Piper laughed so hard she snorted like an asthmatic pug. "Oh Nicky, I love when you monologue."

Valentine glowered.


	2. Vengeance (Cait and Nate)

_**Vengeance – **_**Nate and Cait**

Cait swung her bat over and over and over again. Her eyes were wild. Nate watched in awe as her arm muscles bulged each time the bat clashed with its target, a wrathful shout bursting from her lips.

Her face was spattered with droplets of dark liquid, but she kept swinging until beads of sweat rolled down her freckled chest. Finally, she tossed the bat aside next to the empty bottle of whiskey. Her forehead glistened in the dusk.

Nate pressed a gentle hand upon her slick shoulder. "Are you alright, Cait?"

She glared at Nate. "Am I alright?!" she repeated mockingly. "I just stubbed me toe on a bloody mutfruit bush!"

"Did…did ya have to beat it up, though?"

"AYE, DAMN IT" wailed Cait Irishly.


	3. Monsieur Bear (Curie and Nate)

_**Monsieur Bear – **_**Nate and Curie**

Curie stepped over the carcass. It was one of many, each comprised of leathery, yellow flesh belonging to none other than supermutants.

The building was laden with gore, guts, and entrails, strewn about the rafters like streamers at the world's worst party. Sacks of net overflowed with meat – human, ghoul, who really knew? – and they dripped and oozed from their chained heights onto the floor below.

The sickly sweet smell of decay permeated throughout the building. It was the kind of odor that would stick to one's clothes until they were removed, bleached, and lit on fire.

Curie trotted at Nate's heels as he opened another sliding door. This time, a pile of offal fell from some indiscernible height, splattering onto the floor in an explosion of livers and ribs and heads with glossy eyes. Nate turned a violent shade of green.

Curie reached past him and knelt down, plucking something out of the carnage with her fingers. "Oh! A bear!" she exclaimed in her singsong voice, hauling the remains of a 200 year old stuffed animal from the grizzly excrement. "Zis is most unsanitary! We simply must sanitize Monsieur Bear if he is to return with us to ze settlement, would you not agree?"

"One moment," replied Nate, who removed his combat helmet and proceeded to vomit into it.

"Mon dieu..." gasped Curie.


	4. Fallon's Basement (Deacon and Nate)

_**Fallon's Basement – **_**Nate and Deacon**

Deacon was excited to be at Fallon's. Nate was off looting god knows what, so Deacon decided to do a little soul searching.

A man of many disguises, Deacon's eyes instantly caught a sign with his favorite two words. "CLOTHING SALE." He liked to test his limits, and wondered how far he could go before somebody caught on to his ruse. How few items could he mix and match before people forgot he was Deacon? This would be his daily challenge. He felt a twinge of guilt for leaving Nate alone upstairs, but hey, free clothes right? Men's wear, women's wear…it was all his now.

Nate closed the steamer trunk with a groan, rotating his aching shoulder. Suddenly, the light shifted. It was such a slight motion that he had almost missed it. His amber eyes lifted, gaze focused on the frame of a standing mirror. One measly shard of glass was hanging onto the frame, and in its reflection, Nate saw the raider.

He drew his pistol, and the raider began to draw her hunting rifle. She was fast, but unfortunately, Nate was faster. One shot to the head was all it took; her sunglasses shattered and blood spattered the walls, bits of brain raining down like piñata candy.

Nate took his gear and rose to his feet. As he made his way toward the stairs, he cursed at Deacon, voice echoing off of the barren walls. "Come on! Can't believe you left me hanging like that!"

But he never did find Deacon. All he could do was leave the raider's rotting corpse behind, hoping that Deacon was still out there somewhere…


	5. Ad Victoriam (Danse)

_**Ad Victoriam – **_**Paladin Danse**

Danse breathed a sigh of contentment. Nate was sound asleep in his bedroll a few trailers away over at Fiddler's Green Estates. The paladin's feet were planted firmly in his power armor. He stood within its metal frame, front unhinged and hanging open so that he could feel the air upon his chest and face.

It was dawn. A handful of leftover stars twinkled above, dotting the sky like fireflies. The air smelled of petrichor. Danse inhaled and closed his eyes, feeling the breeze against his skin.

He felt such solitude standing in his open suit of power armor on top of that cliff. Everything was quiet. Peaceful. Danse was happy.

He smiled. With that smile came a deep, horkin' groan as he finished himself off, blowing his load over the side of the cliff.

Everything was silent again. Steely gaze falling over the valley, Danse's lips parted. "Ad victoriam…_ad victoriam…_"


	6. MacCready's Gaze (MacCready and Nate)

_**MacCready's Gaze – **_**Nate and MacCready**

MacCready's eyes gazed out at the sea between the brine and the decaying wreckage of ancient ships, boots shuffling against the sand. It was a starlit evening. "Between you and me, I hate being on the water," he complained, breaking the long stretch of silence.

"S'that right?" hummed Nate mindlessly, buffing a smudge of dirt from his pistol's stock.

MacCready nodded. "Makes me seasick."

…

MacCready's eyes gazed out at the flickering bolts of lightning, crackling like confetti in the dazzling green sky. His boots crunched against the cracked earth of the Glowing Sea. It was noon. "Ugh…"

Nate looked up from his Pipboy having beat his Red Menace high score. "You say somethin'?"

MacCready frowned. "Rads are making me sick to my stomach."

…

MacCready's eyes gazed upon the rusted metal. Huge pipes, barrels and machines jutted forth from the concrete like jagged teeth in a mouth too full. His boots echoed off of the cold floor as he padded across the cannery. It was morning. "Let's pass on the fish," the mercenary insisted.

Nate poked his head out from behind a barrel. Ten caps and a Jet inhaler. Mediocre loot. "Huh?"

"It gives me gas. You _don't _want that to happen."

Nate tossed the Jet back into the barrel, inhaled sharply, and asked, "Would you like some goddamn Pepto Bismol? Fuck, bruh."


	7. The Fog (Old LF, Cait, Nate, Nick)

Nate tipped the bottle back and swallowed down the last of his whiskey, Longfellow, Cait, and the crowd on the docks chanting, "Chug, chug, chug!" That was the last thing he remembered before waking up amidst the haze of the blue fog inside of a mirelurk carapace lined with Boston Bugles and seaweed. "Oh god," he groaned, and climbed his way out of the shell. As he attempted to get to his feet, he slipped on a wet newspaper and fell, slamming his head against a fog condenser. "Fuck!"

"Heyyy, keep it dooooowwwnnnn!" shouted a familiar voice. Was that? Could it be? No…

"Mitch?" gasped Nate. He squinted his eyes, trying to see past his blurred vision. He wasn't sure if it was the Farharbor fog or the post-drunken nausea that impaired his vision. Perhaps both.

"Mitch? Nooo! For cryin' out loud! This is my farrrmmmm!"

Nate's vision came back into unfortunate focus. "No," he insisted.

"Yessss," insisted Uncle Ken back. He adjusted his naked self and cackled, picking up his hoe and resuming tending to his beloved crops.

Nate began his walk of shame all the way back to the harbor and across the strait, only stopping once he reached Old Longfellow's door. He gave three, brisk knocks. "I'm a comin', I'm a comin'," grunted a husky voice. The door creaked open. The old man chuckled. "Well, look who finally made it back home! You convince that old fart to head back on over to Mitch?"

"Where's Cait?" demanded Nate, dodging the question.

"You mean the redhead you came here with?"

"Hey!" wailed a feminine brogue. "I've got a name! Funny how you only remember it during, eh Darlin'?"

"No," demanded Nate.

Longfellow shrugged. "Why don't you head on over to the harbor, get yourself somethin' for that hangover? You need a few caps, Cap'n?"

"Don't you _Cap'n _me, old man," hissed Nate, seeing a silky, smooth leg pop up from behind the door. He reached for his wallet. It wasn't there. He patted himself down and groaned. "Okay, fine. Loan me twenty caps and never speak of this again."

Longfellow chuckled again and handed him thirty. "Good kid. Don't come back for an hour."

There were dark bags under Nate's eyes as Mitch, disappointed that Nate 'hadn't even _met _his uncle,' sat down a mirelurk scramble in front of him. Nate grimaced.

"Say, what's eating you this morning? You haven't touched your food," commented the old detective, trying to get Nate back on track in solving Kasumi's case.

"Just radsick."

"Radsick, my ass. Hasn't anyone ever told you I'm the best detective in Diamond City? And where's Cait?"

"You're the _only _detective in Diamond City, and…and I don't wanna talk about Cait."

"Huh. Well, hope everything's alright. Last time you were this hungover you woke up in a Goodneighbor outhouse."

"Nick, Old Longfellow stole my girl."

The synth raised his brow, or where it would have been if he'd had one. "Wait. Old Longfellow and Cait…"

Nate gave an affirmative, if defeated, sigh.

"Oh. Well, sorry to hear it. Hey, uh, not to sound complacent, but I thought you were with MacCready?"

"I am," moaned Nate, poking at his fishy scramble.

"And Mayor Hancock, if memory serves."

"Mhmm."

"And, say, weren't you and Piper hitting it off back in Diamond City?"

Nate swiveled in his chair at the bar, placing his palms against Nick's artificial flesh. He held his dear friend's face in his hands, looked into his golden eyes, and said, "Valentine. I'm a slut."

Nick's eyes widened. He sat there and took it. Better to let Nate get it all out of his system.

"I'm a filthy, filthy man and I have to have them all. It's like some other-worldly force compels me to bone down on all of my companions just because they exist. And if you weren't straight, Nick, you'd be next on my list."

Nick's stomach, or lack thereof, felt like it fell out of his ass. "Okay," spoke Nick in his usual calm voice. He took Nate's wrists and lowered them, swiveling him back around and placing a fork in one of the kid's hands and a knife in the other. "It's alright to have multiple partners. Whatever floats your boat. But let's tone it back a little before –"

"I fucked Uncle Ken."

"WHHAAAAAATTTTTTT!?" screamed Mitch, causing the bar's cat to yowl, panic, and crash into Nate's omelet. Mirelurk meat and egg went flying everywhere, the plate shattering on the ground like confetti.

"You heard me, goddamn it!" flailed Nate. "I fucked Uncle Ken, and that old bastard Longfellow fucked my girl! I woke up inside of a mirelurk!"

"_What?" _gasped Nick, having zero context in which to extrapolate from.

"Ya sick freeeeak! Get offa my doccckkkkkkkk!" Mitch hurled a bottle of Vim at Nate's head. He dodged and the bottle shattered.

"This is the Mariner's dock, asshole!"

"Whaddya gonna do about it?! Fight me on it?!"

"Yeah!"

"Oh yeeeeahhhh Mainlander?!"

"YEAH MITCH, YEAH!"

"Fiiiine! You'n'me, outsiiiiide! Right nowww!"

Nate rolled over. Sweat glistened on his naked chest. He looked into the eyes of his evening fling. And then he winced.

"Looks like you could use an ice, cold Vimmmm!" breathed Mitch.

Nate sighed. "The fuck is wrong with me?"


	8. Sunset (Hancock and Nate)

The tangerine waves rippled against the old tires and bits of metal, sun sinking behind ocean's curve. Sea spray tickled the Medford docks. Mirelurks could be seen scuttling about the shore a ways down, and gunfire crackled miles away in the distance. The ocean pulled itself in and out, out and in, the melody of waves smoothing away the stress of the day.

Nate sat on the dock next to the decrepit folding chair. He rubbed his sleeve against the smudge of blood on his boot. Hancock approached from behind, joining the vault-dweller by taking a seat on the sun-cracked wood.

"Ain't that a sight?" breathed the mayor. "Wouldn't have thought there could still be something that pretty out here. Present company excluded."

Nate stopped what he was doing and looked into the ghoul's black eyes. The orange flare of the sun twinkled inside of them, two sparkling orbs shining against the evening sky. The last light of day highlighted Hancock's deep laugh lines as he idly smirked, tri-fold hat tipped up while he watched a flock of gulls swarm the air above. Finally, he caught Nate's stare.

"Did I say somethin' wrong?" asked Hancock.

"You're doing the thing again."

"What thing?"

"That thing where you make me extra gay."

Hancock grinned. "You don't need my help with that, Sunshine, you're doing just fine on your own." He whipped out an inhaler of jet, took a huff, and tapped Nate on the nuts.


	9. Babysitting (Danse, Strong)

"Are you sure you're up for this?" asked Nate.

"Relax," sighed Cait, tired of hearing the same question for the millionth time.

"They'll be just fine," added Hancock. "No accounting for taste, but you deserve a little alone time, even if it is with Danse."

"Okay, it's just…" Nate inhaled sharply. He peeked outside. Strong stomped down the road. He paused, scratched his ass, and sniffed his fingers. Curie sat on a chair under the awning of the workshop on the opposite side of the street as Nate's house. She stared at the palms of her hands, turning them over and wiggling her fingers. "It's just," he continued, "Curie has only been a synth for forty-eight hours, and Strong is, well…" Strong sniffed his thumb. "Maybe this was a bad idea…"

Cait tilted her head back and groaned. "OH FOR CRYIN' OUT-"

"Listen," interrupted Hancock, calm as usual, "You've been through all kinds of crazy shit out there. Cait and I have _got _this, man. You do you. Or should I say, you do Danse."

Nate placed his head in his hands. "I really, really wanna do Danse. Alright. I'm trusting you two."

"Have I ever let you down before?" asked the mayor.

Maybe Hancock was right. Why had Nate asked in the first place if he didn't trust them, after all? So the night went on as planned. Nate had only confessed his feelings for Danse a short time ago, and the two were eager to go explore the limits of their affections together. Turns out those limits were butt-related and took place about a mile away in an abandoned shipping yard.

Nate and Danse stared at one another on the bridge. "I should get back to the Prydwen," said the paladin.

"Yup," replied Nate. His voice cracked.

They stared in silence for nearly a minute until Nate cleared his throat. Danse held his hand out for a shake. _Really, a shake? _thought Nate. He made a face. Danse almost took his hand back before Nate decided, fuck it, this is the most emotion I'm ever going to get out of this sexy ass toaster. They shook hands in the most awkward shake that has ever taken place in the Commonwealth.

At a loss of what to say, Danse panicked and said, Uh…ad victoriam, then," before walking off into the distance.

Nate wondered if any – and he meant _any _– of that was worth it. He waddled back into Sanctuary. Everything was quiet. Well, at least he could do the walk of shame back to bed alone, right? But as he entered the front door, he was shocked to find Curie, Hancock, Cait, and even Strong sitting cross-legged in a circle on the floor of the living room.

"Ah, you have returned!" exclaimed Curie. "Mademoiselle Cait has explained ze nature of your, er, relationship with Monsieur Danse. She has told me that you – "

"DANSE GAVE MILK OF HUMAN KINDNESS TO HUMAN!" interrupted Strong. "STRONG WANT DANSE'S MILK!"

Nate glared at Hancock and Cait who exchanged roguish glances. "I am never trusting either of you ever again."

"Probably wise," shrugged Hancock.

"HOW MUCH MILK DID DANSE GIVE HUMAN?!"

"Yeah," snickered Cait, "how much milk, Nate?"

Nate's eyes flung open into wild, angry discs. He turned his palms up and squeezed his fingers, imagining Cait and Hancock's respective necks in his trembling grasp. _I FUCKING HATE YOU _he mouthed.


	10. The Tinker Tom Special (MacCready, Nate)

"You here to try the new Tinker Tom special?" Nate frowned. He felt terrible. First mirelurks, then super mutants, then raiders. It was one thing after the other, all the way from Salem to Boston. Even his bruises had bruises. Before he could tell Tom no, the tall man grabbed Nate by the shoulders and said, "Carrington said these babies should be tested first, but who's got time for that amirite? So, you gonna take a look?"

"What _babies_?" huffed Nate. Whatever it was, it was probably incredibly stupid tech that nobody needed.

Tom rubbed his hands together. "Ooooh hoo hoo you are gonna LOVE this! Don't tell Carrington."

Nate looked into the trunk and gasped. "Is that… I mean, are those…?"

"Yup. Made with love. So, you want one or not?"

"No!" laughed Nate – and he physically laughed, I mean the idea was preposterous – but the more he looked into the trunk, the more questions he had. The more questions he had, the longer he stared. And the longer he stared, the more he became captivated at the idea. "Well…" he hummed.

"I have something for you, baby," said Nate in what he dubbed as his 'sexy' voice. He plugged it in and flicked the switch on.

MacCready gasped. "UHHHHH what the HELL is that?! It's freaking huge! And why is it spinning like that?!"

Nate winked. "Bend over, Robert."

"What?! No way! You're crazy if you think that's gonna fit in-"

Nate laughed. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. It's a mixer, you muppet. Now hand me that tarberry. We're making smoothies, jackass."


	11. Assault (Nick and Nate)

Nick and Nate climbed down the stairs at the Cliff's Edge Hotel, taking Pearl's lead. Once she was at the bottom, she turned a corner. The gentlemen followed suit. Nate crouched down in front of Nick and stuck his fist assertively in the air signaling for the synth to stop. Nick did.

Five bloated, gangrenous corpses peeled themselves off of the ground, cracked groans escaping their crusted lips. "Keep your distance. Ferals hit hard," whispered Nick.

They were scrambling to their feet, more of them than Nate's eyes could keep up with. And the worst part? Their Miss Nanny guide was headed right into the hoard.

Nate hissed. "Shit. Alright, back it up."

Nick nodded, the men backtracking a ways up the stairs. Reaching down, Nate pulled a grenade from his holster, twisted the key, pulled, and tossed. The grenade bounced off of the doorframe like a pachinko machine and rebounded onto the floor where it rolled under Pearl. The hoard descended on her, just in time for Nate to close his eyes, cover his ears, and wince at the jarring boom.

Once the dust had settled, he blinked and examined the wreckage. Pearl wasn't "dead" per se, just a little…er…disassembled. Her extremities whirred as she began to repair herself amidst the gory pile of bloated feral-limbs, her shiny white exterior spattered with blood.

"Hmm…" mused Nate, cocking his head to the side to look at his traveling partner. "Was that assault?"

The synth raised a brow (or lack thereof.)

Nate looked back at Pearl, whose jets fluttered back to life. She pulled herself up from the oozing pile of melted flesh and hovered casually down the hall.

"Nahhh…" he said. "That wasn't assault. That was a judgment call."

Nick rolled his yellow eyes, shook his head, and lit up a smoke.


	12. Persuasion Attempt Failed (Nick & Nate)

Nate stirred the cast iron pot. Orange flames crackled, smoke rising into the cool air of that Boston, waterfront night. Valentine sat in an old folding chair a few feet away, back turned to Nate. Nate heard a puff and glanced up. A thin strand of cigarette smoke dissipate above Nick's head. "Nice night," sighed the synth. Nate guessed he was just as relieved to catch a moment of peace.

"Eyyyup," agreed Nate, clinking his spoon against the pot. He reached down with a soft grunt and plucked his whiskey from the ground.

Nick stood up after extinguishing his cigarette. "Always preferred something with a nice, high octane myself."

Nate chuckled and swallowed down his booze with a sharp exhale. He set the bottle back on the ground. The synth came and took a seat on the ground by Nate, who considered his next words carefully. "Hey Valentine?"

"Do somethin' for ya?" Nate opened his mouth, but only chuckled. Nick offered an inquisitive expression in return and said, "Well, don't keep me in suspense."

"Nothing, Nick, it's just…we doing okay?"

Nick was surprised the vault-dweller still asked these things. Nate gave a damn about other people, and his actions reflected that. That's all that mattered, and the two of them were the best of friends because of it. Nick smiled. "Nate, I got you as a friend. There's nothing more an old bot could ask for."

Nate grinned. "I feel the same. Feels like I can talk to you about anything."

"'Course you can," agreed Nick.

"Cool. Cool. 'Cause I, uh, had a question…" Nate continued smiling. Nick did not. "I was just wondering, since you and I have come to trust each other over the last few months…"

"I'm not going to tell you what kind of 'hardware' the Institute gave me."

"But – "

"Quit askin', and eat your stew."

_Worth a try, _thought Nate. He'd ask again next time.


	13. Poetry Night (Nate, Hancock, Atom Cats)

"_I take a puff and watch the world melt._

_The blue of the sky blends into the sea, salty clouds on stellar shores._

_Another hit, unlike anything I've felt._

_Asphalt gray, now rainbow like puddles of oil next to Fallon's department store._

_The air enters my lungs and my eyes expand._

_The trees grow taller, the buildings more jagged, the roads longer._

_Fresh from the vault, now a philosophical man._

_Watching the world wash away with the rain and my mind growing stronger._

_And…THAT – "_

He clapped loudly.

"_Is…Jet."_

Someone coughed. A sparse murmur of obsequious applause crackled briefly in the Atom Cat's garage. It died quickly. "Holy smokes, _total _wet rag, amirite?" whispered Zeke, nudging the ghoul in the chair next to him.

Hancock shrugged. "Eh, it's not so bad. When he takes Mentats he gets, like, really hyper-focused and reads out of the encyclopedia."

Zeke lowered his sunglasses in disbelief. "No shit?"

"For hours," added Hancock. "He has them all on holotape, so he can just load them up in his Pipboy." Hancock took a puff of his own jet and held it in. "It's fuckin' atrocious man." He coughed and greeted Nate as he approached.

"How'd I do?"

"Great job, brother. Hey, let's try a different chem tonight."


	14. Bedtime (Nate and Companions)

Nate had dug himself a hole. First, he decided he needed a house. Why not Taffington? It was waterfront property and seemed like a solid idea. Next his companions started moving in. And finally, he started dating his companions. Each night was a struggle. Whose turn was it? He was losing count.

That Saturday after a long day of fighting raiders, he staggered into the living room. MacCready and Cait were playing cards on the table. Curie and Piper were reading magazines on the couch. Preston, Danse, and Hancock sat on the floor cleaning their weapons. Preston looked up. "Babe," he greeted. Everyone stared at Nate. Who was coming to bed with him tonight?

Instead of eenie-meeny-miney-moeing like the last time, he cleared his throat and said, "I'm gonna turn in for the night."

Everyone exchanged glances. After a stint of silence, the sounds of everyone shifting their weight could be heard; floorboards creaking, furniture scooting, shuffling of feet. But whatever. Someone would call dibs and it would sort itself out. Suddenly, everyone paused. They all looked at Nate, or so he thought. He looked left, then right, only to realize they were all looking behind him. Three large footsteps approached. **Thud, thud, thud!**

"HUMAN SAY TIME FOR BED! PUNY REPORTER WENT LAST TIME! STRONG'S TURN!"

Nate swallowed and turned pale. "I…I can explain this."

Piper got out her pen and paper.


	15. Item Glitch (Nate, Curie)

Nate wasn't having a very good day. Raiders with rocket launchers, radsickness, and feral hoards were only a few of the things he encountered…and it wasn't even dinnertime yet. He returned to Taffington Boathouse where his companions idly sat or chatted amongst themselves.

He popped some radaway, put up his power armor, and figured he'd set to work on making dinner. Entering the kitchen, he did a double take. There on the shelf was the bottle of Nuka Quantum he put on display for the third time. Only it wasn't sitting straight up anymore. He wrinkled his nose and went to inspect it further.

A moment later, everyone in the living room froze. "What the hell is this?" asked Nate, holding up the bottle.

"Uh, zat is a Nuka Cola, yes?" answered Curie.

"_Zis," _mocked Nate, "was the bottle of Nuka Quantum I left sitting **upright **on the shelf. So would anyone like to explain to me why it was knocked over?"

Silence.

Nate sighed. "This is the third effing time I've come home to find my belongings tipped over. And it's _only _on that shelf. Nothing upstairs moves. Nothing outside. Only in the kitchen on this particular shelf. So tell me: why?"

More silence.

"WHY?!" shouted Nate. Curie jumped and the others exchanged confused glances. "If none of you are moving my shit around, then who's moving it?! Huh?! Why can't I keep a bottle of Nuka-fucking-Cola, or a robot model, or anything on that shelf in there?! Why does it move?! WHY DOES IT MOVE?!"

"Monsieur," peeped Curie, "please, calm down. I am afraid you are having an anxiety attack."

"Anxiety?! ANXIETY?!" cried Nate. He began to cackle. "Curie, baby, I fight raiders! Big baddies in power armor! Mutants! Giant insects! Evil robots! Why would I have a panic attack over a shelf?!"

Nate tossed the Nuka onto the ground and heel-toed it over to the shelf. "Besides, if the shelf WERE giving me a panic attack WHICH IT TOTALLY IS NOT, then the logical solution would be to just dismantle the shelf, right? RIGHT?!"

Nate took the butt of his gun and started smashing the shelf to pieces. Everyone watched in awe. Nate then took each, individual, destroyed piece out to his workbench and tossed it into a pile. He came back fifteen minutes later with wild hair and wilder eyes. "See?! See! Everything is fine! Now I have enough wood to make another cat painting!"


End file.
